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Someday This Could Be Funny Chapter One: The Thirteenth of February
The first thought that ran through Crowley’s head as he looked up (and up) at the tall and glowering demon before him, arms crossed and eyes a-flicker, was that he must be able to get out of whatever it was that he’d done without realizing somehow. (Actually, it was Oh sssshit!, but that wasn’t nearly as specific.)
“Hi, Hastur, can I he—” he began, and was subsequently slammed into the wall behind him. Tiny outcroppings of stone dug into his back, and he blessed the prevalence of “natural” architecture in Hell. There was certainly something to be said for sheetrock when it came to the list of Favorite Materials to Be Violently Pushed Against.
“You’re coming with me tomorrow,” Hastur snarled, fangs bared. He gave the shoulder he’d pinned the junior demon another grind into the rock and balled his other fist tighter into
The Monstermaker: Ch. IThe woman was dead, and his involvement was at an end. Hastur leant against the wall and conjured himself a smoke, wrapping his tongue around the end of the cigarette when he was finished enough and flicking it down his throat. He’d liberated them from the body and they still tasted a little of blood, but that had never stopped him.
The familiar voice shook him out of his reverie. Turning, he beheld a short, stocky figure in a pinstriped suit and raised a brow.
The last time he'd seen the demon Phelan, they had both been in the rather awkward position of trying to save the world. It had also been the last time he'd expected -- or wanted, really -- to see him again, ever. Phelan wasn't exactly acceptable dinner-guest material. Admittedly, neither was Hastur most of the time, but the junior demon gave him a vague and nebulous case of the jeebies whenever he spent enough time in his presence.
It wasn't the red slit-pupiled eyes and the slight
calling homeSometimes when it's really dark and I'm lying in my bed alone — even when it's not just me — I see these little lights. I don't know if it's dreaming or not, but it's the prettiest thing you could ever see that's not the face of someone you love; all colors sometimes they are, winking on and off, and they just make me feel so much better.
I see them when I cry from time to time. I still cry. He says I can do it all I want, he teases me and it makes me think maybe I shouldn't, I should be grown up even though nobody ever treated me grown up and it's awfully hard to be something nobody ever said you could be, but he says he likes it, that it shows I'm sweet. I wish I didn't want to do it so often. But it hurts. Everything hurts even when it's wonderful, maybe especially then. And isn't it lovely then? I don't feel alone when they're around me, all those lights.
Your Insignificant GoddessHe curled himself loosely, soft legs and loose arms, against the wall like a prawn on a plate. He kept his lashes low, his face turned away from me, only moving to write and place the slate in front of my knees.
I'VE DONE MY TIME.
"I know, sweetie." I crouched beside him, reaching out to take his shoulder and then thinking better of it. I kept forgetting that he was younger than me, younger by several years. Sometimes, though, it was all too apparent. He was cold and firm, but there was so much simplicity in the smoothness of his face and limbs, this body like mine that time hadn't carved idiosyncracies into yet, his face like a brush painting the way I'd imagined it: uncomplicated, clean, fresh. "And you've done it better than I could ever have done."
I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK. I'M TIRED OF BEING HIS DOG.
"You won't be forever," I whispered. The threat of tears squeezed the backs of my eyeballs. This blessing, this cursed blessing. He was so real, so good, and now it too was real, what
Sweetest Silent SongHe sits in the window that shows the view most like Heaven with an empty book in his lap, stroking it like an inconsolable child. Silent.
I have never had the words to comfort or express. My language has always been that of clashing spears and cold hard coordinates; I can mimic the masters of pathos when it serves me well, but when it comes to speaking my own true emotions I am as dumb as the butt of a spear. Any elegance I may have, I learned from him.
Once I had the honor of belonging to the sweetest song in Hell.
And now that voice is silenced, perhaps forever. The gash across his throat boasts itself like a second mouth mocking the uselessness of the first. The memory of seeing him take it will forever drown out the rest of the battle; the blood of the one who inflicted it has long been washed from my hands into oblivion, but the consequences remain.
His pen is just as silent now. He no longer writes, for with no ability to reproduce the music or narrate he composes all j
At Night, The River"Enjoying the night, Mordecai?"
The child looked up and smiled as Silvia settled next to her, interrupting the song he had been murmuring while sitting on the bench overlooking the river, kicking his booted feet. His teeth were very white and sharp, his eyes were a deep purple, and his hair was fair. He could have been anywhere from twelve to fifteen, and neither.
He was one of the few creatures Silvia Marsh feared.
"Where's your Ezra?"
"Duke Riesgraf-Carleton is at home taking his rest, as if you didn't know," said Silvia, more stiffly than she had intended. "I'm alone tonight."
Mordecai snuggled into her leather-clad shoulder, wrapping a little white hand around her bicep. Despite the thick coat between them, Silvia shivered at the chill of his skin. "I could warm you up."
"I don't think so. I'm here for information, not your sick idea of playtime."
He pouted, all sugar. "You hate me, don't you? Silvia, you know I think you're pretty. You remind me of a girl I killed in Prague. Just
let me kiss you. hinata shouyou x reader
It has been two weeks since both [Name] and Hinata started dating.
And during those two weeks, they haven't done anything except holding hands or walking home together once Hinata's volleyball practice was over. They haven't kissed. They haven't went on dates. They haven't.. really done anything. And Hinata really wanted to change that. The only problem is that he was.. just too shy or nervous to do it.
As for [Name].. well, Hinata wasn't really so sure what was going on inside [Name]'s mind. But she hasn't made a move on him, either. Which was normal of her, because she was usually the type of person to go with the flow. Hinata was even the one who confessed to her, and she returned his feelings two days after.
"This is getting so frustrating..!" Hinata exclaimed, unaware of the volume of his voice.
"Onii-chan! Some people are trying to sleep!" Natsu, Hinata's younger sister, yelled back from the other room.
The boy's cheeks were flushed at the moment his sister scolded him. "Sorry!"
May I have this dance? | Edward Midford x Reader
have this dance?
[Name] Tompkins was most definitely not a big fan when it came to ballroom parties. Don't get me wrong, though! [Name] absolutely loved to socialize with people and have a small chat with them. Just.. not in a crowd full of people. However, when her dear friend, Elizabeth (or Lizzie, as she liked to call herself), had sent [Name] an invitation to a ballroom party — she had no choice to but to come. Elizabeth (or Lizzie), after all, was her one of her close friends.
"Ah! Lady Tompkins! You came!" the optimistic girl grinned as she came over to [Name], giving her a big hug. As soon as she let go of her, she gasps slightly as she covers her mouth with her hand. "My, you look absolutely ravishing today, Lady Tompkins! That dress does indeed compliment your beautiful features!"
"Oh, Lizzie," [Name] says, chuckling at her words. "you're making me blush. And look at you, dear. You look twice as more beautif
Cherry Chapstick FFM24The main issue with Jaime’s housing tract was that the architect was an idiot. He made all the houses reflect each other in an artsy attempt at showing how our lives mirror others. Jaime had lost track of the times he saw the middle-aged woman undressing for a bath.
Tonight, her twenty-two year old son sat in the kitchen, watching Jaime’s date. Jaime saw him out of the corner of his eye but didn’t look over, holding his date’s attention.
After many failures in the dating world, Jaime had learned that women love being listened to and find the strong and silent type attractive. At least for the first few dates. Afterwards, they got bored and left him, but this never disappointed him. He wasn’t looking for “the one”; he simply enjoyed talking to beautiful women.
He liked her. She told him about her day as a vet, but it wasn’t gross enough to make him vomit. It was subtle. She was a good storyteller.
He glanced over at the son. He wore the sa
rainbow beestingsElbow-deep in stardust, you spatter rainbow swirls over my vision and paint me with images of hope and beauty... But weak minds make weaker tongues and I am incapable of speaking out. And so I stand, numb.
ReflectedHe called himself ugly, but I could never see it. I wanted to draw him even before I wanted to touch him. The shadows under his too-dark eyes. The line of his too-wide mouth. The light across his too-fine cheekbones. He wanted to be ruggedly handsome, pale-eyed, light-haired, everything that he was not. He couldn’t see how the intensity of those eyes made glancing away impossible. How his mouth made you think about kissing him. How his cheekbones made his face just a touch unusual, so looking at him never got old.
Ugly he said, but really he was devastating.
Every morning he stood before the bathroom mirror and tried to find reasons. She left him because his ribs showed, because one front tooth slightly overlapped the other, because a nick of a scar parted his left eyebrow. I touched each imperfection and explained how they made him one of a kind, unlike any man I had ever met. I quieted his protests with kisses and gentle hands. And when he left my side unconvinced, diving deep
Pretty little cutter. .:Dave x Reader:.
"[Name], It is very triggering when you do not eat the food Karkat got you. He wanted to get you something you would like to eat. Tell me, Why aren't you eating?" Kankri sighed, Sitting down in front of [Name]. "Oh... I-I'm not hungry." Lies, Lies, Lies. "Oh, Alright. I'll save it for you." Kankri leaned over, Kissing her forehead. Kankri was like her big brother, He knew everything about her- Well, Not everything.
"T-Thanks, Kankri. Tell Karkat I said hey." She faked smiled, Trying to hide her pain.
"Anytime, [Name]. Anyway, Everyone is waiting outside for you. Go put on your bathing suit. You can't say no this time." He chuckled, Not realizing how pale [Name]'s face had turned. Going silent as Kankri walked out of the back door, [Name] began to panic.
Truth is, The reason [Name] didn't want to swim each time Kankri asked was because... She hadn't eaten a real meal in over five months. Cuts covered her thighs, Arms, Hips, You name it.
SolarisFigment of unreal imaginations, creature of the Sun warms my skin as I curl into a cocoon and bask in her light.
OblivionI was left standing at the foot of Reilly’s bed after Will left. He’d let me in to see him but it felt like he was just giving me a chance to say goodbye. Reilly was breathing, just, and as I walked to his side I could pick out dark blood splattered on the floor with heavy streaks where Will had tried to clean it. A few hours ago it would have made me sick but now I just felt despondent. The man in front of me had saved my life and I had never had the chance to pay back the favour. Will had told me he’d been bleeding internally and his heart had stopped. They’d had to restart it and in the process Will had cracked two of Reilly’s ribs.
But I couldn’t see his injuries; Will had wrapped him in thick blankets, ones we had rolled up in during the winter, to try and keep him warm. He’d lost so much blood and he was so pale that he looked half dead already. I pulled up a chair and sat next to his head, brushing away lose strands of hair from his fore
O My MetropolisTear yourself from your boundaries, o my metropolis, and drift with the graceful slowness of continents to my arms. Though the others look not upon you, for you are black with smoke and sharp with the tongues of your children, I rejoice, for mine eyes have their full run of your rough and uncouth fierceness.
Come to my arms, o Manchester, and fit your city limits round my roads, your slums to my city centre. You make me desire the filth of the streets and the grey of bleak great winter skies above bleaker little lives.
Dirty me, my dear.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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